Deadly Affection
by modrocker423
Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Wow, I would love it if I owned Supernatural. Sadly, I don't.

Betaed: By the one and only Gina. Without her, I'd be a lost lonely writer with no direction whatsoever. This story's for you!

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

modrocker423: Hey everybody! Welcome to my first ever Supernatural story. Tah dah! Ok, so it's not that impressive, but it's a start. grins I'm really having a great time writing Deadly Affection and I hope you all have as much fun reading it.

Enjoy!

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**DEADLY AFFECTION**

::Chapter One::

The bitter cold night air bit sharply at Sam's face as he walked through the parking lot of the cheapest motel available in the city of Applecreek in Ohio. The howling wind stung his hazel brown eyes and nipped at his bare cheeks. Sam tightened his grip on the two Styrofoam cups filled to the brim with overpriced bland coffee from Joe's Moe across the street, ignoring the fact that the cups were burning his numb hands. He quickened his pace and arrived at a door with badly peeling white paint and a faded number five written on it. Balancing both cups of coffee in one hand, Sam dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out the key before managing to open the door. He entered the small and dingy motel room and relished in its warmth for a few seconds before closing the door behind him.

"Took you long enough. I was about to get together a search and rescue squad," the voice of his older brother, Dean, drawled from his spot on the unkempt bed closest to the door.

"Funny," Sam deadpanned as he walked over to the bed Dean was sprawled out on.

"I thought it was," Dean replied while sitting up and taking the cup of coffee that Sam was holding out for him. He took a grateful sip of the drink and nearly choked as the scorching hot liquid burned his throat. "It's hot," he gasped, grimacing as his now blistered throat pulsed with hot, fiery pain.

"No kiddin'," Sam replied, chuckling as he sat on the corner of the bed across from Dean's before taking a tentative sip of his own coffee. He ignored the fact that the coffee definitely needed more taste and that it burned his throat as he drank it; all he needed was the caffeine.

Sam had barely gotten any sleep the past couple of nights. His freakish nightmare visions had started up again, much to his disdain. However, none of the visions made sense. Sam would only get a small part of a vision and the rest would be blurred. But every night the vision became stronger and more painful; parts of the vision that were blurred the previous night wouldn't be blurred the next. It was as if the vision was a puzzle and each night Sam would receive a new piece. But Sam didn't want the pieces to a vision he knew he wasn't going to like. He didn't want to put together the puzzles of another person's life. So in order to stop the visions from forming together, Sam prevented himself from falling asleep.

"Well, I'm going to go take a shower," Dean announced, setting down his steaming full cup of coffee and abandoning the television show that he was watching.

"Don't take all the hot water," Sam murmured, taking another sip of his coffee. He watched as Dean stopped in the wooden doorway to the bathroom and flashed him his signature smile.

"Oh don't worry, I will," he said in all seriousness.

"I mean it," Sam retorted, glaring daggers at his brother to prove his point.

"So do I," Dean replied, his smile returning before he spun around. He quickly turned back to his little brother and added, "You should consider getting some sleep for once. You look like shit."

"Thanks," Sam responded bitterly.

"I mean it. You look like you've aged ten years these past couple of days. You got the bags under your eyes and that worn out old look and everything," Dean continued. He knew he was pissing Sam off, but that only encouraged him to keep taunting his younger brother.

Sam wanted to yell at his older brother to shut the hell up. He even wanted to throw a punch square in Dean's smirking face. But all of that involved energy...energy he didn't have. So Sam resorted to saying, "Just go take your shower." He knew it was a weak comeback, but for now he really didn't care.

Dean watched as Sam sighed in exasperation before settling back against his pillows and watching the stupid show that was still playing on the television. He saw Sam shift his eyes from the television screen to glare at him, reminding him that he was openly staring. Dean quickly shut the bathroom door and started the shower. He watched the water as it slowly started to steam, deep in his own troubled thoughts.

Sam's nightmare visions had started up again, Dean knew that. It was obvious even without Sam telling him. But that wasn't what was bothering him...or, at least, it wasn't the main thing that was bothering him. The fact that Sam was preventing himself from falling asleep was bothering him. Everybody knows that lack of sleep isn't good for the body.

But with their job, it could be deadly.

Dean was scared of what could happen to Sam if he kept exhausting himself. He knew it was his job and responsibility as the older brother to look out for Sam, but what if he messed up and was too late? What if they were caught off guard and he couldn't be there to protect Sam?

So many "_ifs_".

Dean would always fight to the death to protect his little brother, but it was always reassuring if he knew that Sam could fight back.

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modrocker423: So what did you guys think? Hopefully it wasn't that terrible... I'm sorry this chapter is so short. I couldn't decide on whether or not I wanted to combine the first and second chapter, so I opted against it. The next chapter will be longer, I promise! 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Only in my dreams do I own Supernatural. Unfortunately, we don't live in my dreams.

Betaed: Many thanks to Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew) for her kind words of wisdom. This story never would have started without her.

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains mild gore and suggestive suicide.

modrocker423: For everyone who reviewed this story, thanks so much for your opinions and comments! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story. You're support means everything to me. And for everyone who read the story but did not reply, thanks for your mute but very much appreciated support.

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::Chapter Two::

Sam sighed and put down his now empty cup of coffee on the bedside table. He repositioned the pillows behind his back and turned back to the television, which was airing a rather boring cooking show. Sam watched as the portly chef tried to unsuccessfully flip whatever he was burning in the frying pan and wondered why he was even watching the show. He looked around for the television remote and saw it gleam back at him from Dean's bed in an almost taunting manner.

Figures.

Sam argued with himself on whether or not he should muster up the effort and get the remote or continue to watch the terrible cooking show. His gaze returned to the television screen just in time to see the burnt food in the frying pan burst into flames and the chef trying to put it out with his rubber spatula.

Effort definitely won.

Heaving yet another sigh, Sam sat up from his comfortable position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The sudden movement caused the world before him to tip and sway in a nauseating fashion. His head started to throb dully as the world took a second too long to right itself. Shaking his head slightly, Sam stood up and snatched the remote off of Dean's bed before settling himself back against his pillows.

Sam switched through the measly five channels on the television and found nothing that interested him. He cursed under his breath before switching it back to the cooking show, where the chef was now examining the crispy remains of his food.

The throbbing in his head seemed to become more persistent and painful as Sam watched the cooking show. He knuckled his temple as a yawn forced its way to Sam's lips, threatening to break free. Sam pushed it back, determined to not give in to his tired body. He eyed Dean's abandoned full cup of coffee on the table in between the two beds and debated on whether he should drink it. Dean would most likely be angry if he did, but Sam desperately needed the caffeine.

As Sam sat up a second time to grab Dean's cup of coffee, the world once again swirled before his eyes. However, this time the world decided not to right itself, causing Sam to go rigid with fear. His stomach churned as the dull headache intensified rapidly and burst to life as searing hot pain, blinding him and sending his pulse racing. Sam clutched his head and gritted his teeth, willing the vision to go away. Pressure built up painfully behind his eyes and the edges of his eye sight started to haze and fade away. Sam managed to choke out "Dean!" before the world vanished and the vision dragged him under.

* * *

Mist and humidity wisped through the small brightly tiled room, billowing and twirling in the streams of light coming from the overhead ceiling lamp. Perspiration clung in tiny beads on the smooth glass surface of the oval shaped mirror hanging on the wall. A starch white towel was suddenly produced and the beads of perspiration were smeared away, revealing the reflection of a middle aged man. The man stared back at his reflection through moss green eyes before scrubbing a hand through his wet salt and pepper hair, pushing it back from his face.

The man heaved a sigh before pulling out a tan brown toiletry case with the name Howard J. Stern stitched on it and pulled out a razor and a can of shaving cream. Suddenly, the overhead ceiling lamp flickered, repeatedly plunging the room into semi-darkness for a split second before returning back to normal. Howard looked up at the light and was about to curse the damn thing before the flickering suddenly stopped. When Howard shrugged and adverted his eyes back to the mirror, he gasped and dropped his razor and can of shaving cream, shocked at what he saw.

The reflection of a woman with lightly curling blonde hair and blue-gray eyes stared back at Howard. Full, pink lips curled into a warm smile when his eyes locked with hers. The woman was wearing a billowing white dress and no shoes. However, something wasn't right. The dress was tattered and looked to be rotting away. The woman's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Her skin was way too pale for any living human being.

Living.

Howard quickly whirled around to make sure he wasn't imagining what he was seeing. He wasn't. The woman was still there with her eerie smile and her ripped dress billowing in a non-existent wind.

"Hello Howard," the woman said. Her voice reverberated softly and sounded distant and muffled, as if it was coming out of a very old speaker.

"It can't be," Howard gasped, staring at the woman with a mixture of awe and fear.

"Why can't it be?" the woman asked, her voice suddenly turning as cold and sharp as the blade of a knife. She took slow steps toward Howard, her bare feet making no sound against the tiled floor.

Howard felt an urge to back up, to run away and leave the room. But panic and curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. "You died," he replied, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.

"I'm back," the woman said simply. To prove her point, the woman stepped up to Howard and placed a cold and clammy hand against his cheek. She felt his skin quiver beneath her touch and felt an overpowering sense of satisfaction.

She had him now.

"Didn't you miss me?" the woman when Howard continued to gape at her.

"Of course," Howard responded quickly, then hesitatingly added, "but..."

"But what?" the woman snapped, her voice electric sharp. She saw Howard flinch in fear and she softened her demeanor. "I came back for you," she added, her voice now icy sweet. When Howard continued to look unsure, the woman pressed herself up against him and leaned in close to whisper "Kiss me" seductively in his ear.

Howard felt his heart race as the cool breath of the woman pressed itself against his ear, sending shivers down his spine. Her full lips were a mere tantalizing inch away from his own. All he had to do was lean in and capture her savory lips with his own.

God how he wanted to kiss her.

But some sort of logic buzzed in the back of his brain, keeping him from kissing her. This was wrong. She couldn't be here, she was dead, he buried her! As her lips drew ever closer, he felt his brain haze over as his wants exceeded his logic. Before he knew it, he was kissing her.

Once the kiss ended, Howard kept his eyes closed for a couple of seconds so he could savor in what had just happened. However, when he slowly opened his eyes, he was surprised to not see the woman. He looked around the entire room but didn't see her anywhere.

Realization sunk into him. Maybe he had imagined it all.

Howard turned back to the mirror and saw his swollen lips. He touched them before shaking his head and picking up his abandoned razor and can of shaving cream. He began to lather up his face with the shaving cream when he heard her whisper. The hairs on the back of Howard's neck stood on end as he whirled around, dropping the can of shaving cream and causing it to smash to the ground and explode in a mass of white foam.

Once again, he didn't see her anywhere.

Cursing, Howard looked at the foamy mess at his feet and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the words "I love you" clearly written in the foam. He felt all the air compress out of his lungs, leaving him winded and light-headed. He stumbled backwards and groped for the doorknob, only to find it locked.

His fear escalating rapidly, Howard backed up against the sink and felt his hand brush against something sharp. Looking down, he saw his razor coated in something that made his stomach churn and bile lick his throat.

Blood.

Howard whipped around and to his horror saw the words "I love you" smeared across the mirror in what he knew was blood. Sobs wracked his chest as he suddenly knew what she wanted...what he had to do.

Tears of pain and sorrow ran freely down Howard's face as he reached with a shaking hand for his razor. With her whispered comforts in his ear, he placed the razor on the exposed skin of the underside of his wrist. He felt the pressures of his wrecked life dig in deep and cause his troubles to bleed away.

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modrocker423: So what did you guys think? I told you it'd be longer this time. grins Sorry the warning sort of gave away the ending, but I needed to put it there in case people who don't like that type of stuff were going to read it. So, sorry once again and I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Owning Supernatural is my biggest fantasy. 

Betaed: Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew), where would I be without you? That's right, nowhere. Thanks so much for your help and opinion. It's always gotten me where I want to be.

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains language, some grotesque images, and suggestions that may not be suitable for children, squeamish people, or people opposed to such stuff.

modrocker423: Hey again! I just wanted to give a major thanks to all of those who reviewed. Your comments always brighten my day and keep my motivated. Without you, there seriously wouldn't be any story. Thanks!

Enjoy!

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CHAPTER THREE

As the horrific images of the vision slowly faded away, Sam found himself coming back to reality. His head felt like it had been split in half with an axe. A small amount of lingering pressure continued to pound behind his eyes, causing his eyesight to be slightly disoriented. He had a fuzzy view of the blank white ceiling above him and numbly realized that he was lying on the ground on his back between the two beds. Sam felt something wet roll in droplets from his nose and pool on his upper lip before spiraling down the sides of his face. He lifted a heavy hand and wiped at his nose, only to come back with crimson stained fingers.

Blood.

Sam's gut twisted as the gruesome images of the vision flooded back into his mind. The deadly razor and the blood. Oh god, there had been so much blood pulsing and spirting out of the jagged line cut deep into the tender flesh. So much blood that sprayed the mirror, staining it forever red. So much blood that it pooled in formidable crimson puddles on the ground, endlessly growing and expanding.

So much blood.

Sam felt his stomach roil and bile burn in the back of his throat. He stumbled to his feet and threw himself at the bathroom door, banging his fist against the grainy wood until it bruised and numbed. He yelled at Dean to get the fuck out of the bathroom while barely managing to hold back the sickness threatening to escape. The door suddenly opened and Sam pushed past a towel-clad Dean to get to the porcelain toilet, where he immediately slammed to his knees and retched out his insides.

"Shit. Sammy?" Sam heard the distant voice of Dean say as he clung to the toilet bowl with his life and continued to throw up the acid that seared his throat and mouth. He felt Dean's cool hands against his sweaty brow, steadying him as he went through hell.

When Sam's stomach managed to relax a bit, he leaned back away from the pungent toilet and felt his back collide with Dean's legs. He felt Dean's strong hands grab under his arms to position him against what felt like the wooden cabinet under the bathroom sink. Sam rested his head back against the wood, closing his weary eyes and heaving as if he had just run a record breaking marathon. His stomach still churned as if unsure if it could cause any more purging. His throat was raw and burned as if it was on fire. The noisome smell of sick clung to him even though Dean had flushed away the contents in the toilet.

Glass brushed against Sam's parched lips as Dean helped him drink some water. The sudden cold liquid against his fiery throat caused him to choke and sputter on the water, spaying it from his mouth.

Just like the blood from the wound.

"Relax Sammy, it's just water," Dean's soothing voice said. Sam felt the glass against his lips again and this time managed to gratefully gulp down some water.

After the glass was pulled away from his lips, Sam leaned his head back against the wooden cabinet, a fine sheen of water clinging to his lips. Snatches of the vision repeatedly played in his mind, torturing his sanity and the frailty of his stomach. He opened his eyes, trying to rid the images away, and grimaced as the bright light pierced his eyes, burning holes deep in his retinas. Sam immediately closed his eyes, succumbing to the images once more.

A cool cloth tenderly swiped at Sam's nose, wiping away the evidence of the vision. He felt his ragged breathing start to even out as his tired body gave way to exhaustion. All he wanted to do was sleep for years, to give up consciousness, to slip into a dream where life pretended to be normal and safe.

So tired.

But something stirred in the back of Sam's mind, jarring his worn out mind back into motion. The vision he had was not a freaky nightmare. It was a vision. It was the future. It was going to happen. The guy was going to kill himself. Let loose the blood that his body so desperately needed to sustain life. Fall into a world where all the darkness and troubles washed away forevermore.

Sam opened his eyes, reducing them to mere slits when the light jarred his eyesight once again. He saw Dean crouching in front of him, his face pale and concerned as he continued to wipe away the beads of blood with a carmine stained cloth. He needed to tell Dean what had happened...what was going to happen.

"Dean," Sam managed to choke out, his dry and raw throat making his voice barely audible.

"Shh Sammy. Just relax," Dean responded, his voice unable to mask his distress.

Anger and frustration pulsed through Sam. Dean didn't understand the urgency of the situation at hand. A guy was going to commit suicide and they might only have minutes to prevent it. Gritting his teeth, Sam fully opened his eyes against the glare of light and shoved the cloth away from his face, causing it to go flying from Dean's hand.

"Dude?" Dean snapped impatiently.

"Vision," Sam said, ignoring Dean's reaction. He was both angry and surprised at how weak his voice still sounded. He sounded like a puny little child. Like the useless younger brother he was.

"What?" Dean asked, confusion etched clearly on his face.

Sam couldn't take this anymore. A man was going to die and Dean just couldn't get that through his thick skull. He needed to take action. Now. Shoving Dean away from him, Sam mustered up the small amount of energy he thought he had left to rise shakily to his feet.

Bad idea.

The world spun and tilted viciously. Sam felt his knees buckle under his heavy body, sending his body crashing to the ground. He heard Dean's worried voice shout out his name before a loud rushing sound deafened him and sucked him into a world of pitch darkness.

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modrocker423: Ok, so it's a little short again, but I thought it best to cut it off there. Hope it was ok and not too hard to read due to the stuff mentioned in the warning. I was actually really impressed with how this chapter turned out, so I'm hoping you are too. Thanks for reading! 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Hmm...I wonder if I finally own Supernatural. checks Nope, I still don't. Darn it all.

Betaed: Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew), once again thank you so much for all of your support. Your eagerness to read this story has kept me with it even in times when I felt so in over my head with school work that I thought I couldn't possibly keep writing.

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains some language.

modrocker423: I have to give a major thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Your opinions have supported me and kept me with this story in more ways than I can possibly express. Thank you! Also, I would like to say sorry for the long wait. This week in school has been all work since our holiday break started Friday. And then I got sick...which made it all the harder for me to write this chapter (it actually took me three hours to write ::grumbles::). But I finished it and here it is!

Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

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::Chapter Four::

Dean silently watched Sam's chest steadily rise and fall in sleep, his younger brother's lanky body sprawled across his bed under a mound of blankets that Dean had piled on top of him. He was seated across from him on his own bed and had been keeping a vigil watch on his younger brother ever since his "incident"...

Two nights ago.

Sam had been sleeping for two days straight and it was starting to scare the shit out of Dean. His brother was not one to sleep late...ever. Whether it was from his nightmares or from the strain of their job, Dean rarely knew. The only thing he was certain of was how abnormal it was for Sam to sleep past him.

When Sam had reached his twenty-four hour mark of impersonating Sleeping Beauty, Dean was concerned, but not freaked out. He knew his brother had been immensely sleep deprived before his "incident." He reasoned that Sam's fatigued body was just catching up on the lost sleep it desperately needed. But as the hours turned into days, Dean transformed from the concerned older brother to the helpless older brother who did not have all the solutions and answers to the world's problems.

Twice Dean had picked up his cell phone and started dialing up their father for help. But he had always cut the connection before he knew he would hear John's gravely recorded voice. Dean was torn between finding out a way to solve the situation at hand by himself and admitting that he had no clue how to help his younger brother...that he was helpless...that he was failing at the job of being the older brother.

Besides, what help would their father be? John never picked up his cell phone, let alone answer the messages his sons left him. Pigs would fly before John would drive from who knows where to check up on his sons. But even if Dean somehow managed to contact their father, John would drill him on what had happened. How could Dean answer that when their father had yet to learn about Sam's psychic abilities? He knew he could always lie...spit out some bullshit and hope that John bought it.

Or he could tell the actual truth for once in his life.

Dean shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his tired face. He could never betray Sam like that. It had taken Sam so long to finally admit to Dean about his abilities. Now his younger brother trusted him to keep it a secret. To keep it between _them _only. Sam's psychic abilities had created a physical bond between the two of them. A bond that only brotherhood could produce. Dean would rather die than break that bond...that bond that served as a lifeline to keep him sane in the messed up world.

Sam groaned and shifted in his sleep. Dean felt his heart skip a beat and start beating painfully against his chest to right its rhythm. He immediately rose to his feet and covered the short distance between the two beds so that he could stand next to Sam. Maybe his younger brother was going to finally wake up. _Hopefully_ his younger brother was going to finally wake up.

_Wake up, Sammy. Please._

But Sam didn't wake up. His breathing evened out in sleep once more, his chest returning to its gentle rising and falling. Dean exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in and ran a hand through his short and spiky hair. He examined Sam's face, calm with sleep. A fine shimmer of sweat clung to the patch of skin between his brother's eyebrows; Dean wiped away the imposing droplets and was surprised at how cold they felt underneath the tips of his fingers. He tucked in the mound of blankets closer around Sam's lanky frame before resting his hand on his brother's chest. The rising and falling reassured Dean, letting him know that Sam was still there with him. That he was not alone. Never alone.

* * *

Sam slowly arrived back to reality, feeling as if he had been hit by a truck. Repeatedly. His head pounded with a slow and dull throb, each pulse of pain aching his battered body to the bone. He could taste blood and vomit in his parched mouth, the vile mixture nearly making him gag. Sweat clung to his heated body, seeping through the t-shirt and sweatpants he was wearing and causing them to unpleasantly stick to his skin. Sam felt like he was suffocating under the pressure of the pile of blankets on top of him; he kicked at them weakly, but it was to no avail. 

As Sam shifted in his bed, something jarred his hazy mind and told him that something wasn't right. Something was missing. Something that chilled him to the bone and made him feel stranded and alone with the realization that he didn't have it. Sam screwed up his mind trying to think of what was wrong, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Then it hit him.

Dean.

His older brother should've been there by his side the second he woke up. Dean never left him alone, even when he was perfectly capable of watching over himself. So where was he?

Sam felt fear constrict his chest, pressing down on him with tremendous force and preventing him from taking in a breath. What had happened? He vaguely recalled that he and Dean were going to hunt down a poltergeist that was wreaking havoc in some local mall. That was the whole reason they came to Applecreek in the first place. Had the hunt gone wrong? Had Dean gotten hurt? If Dean was hurt, then why was he at the hotel? So many questions...

"Dean?" Sam called out, his voice breathy and barely audible. He strained his ears for Dean's voice, hoping against hope to hear some smart-ass response in return. When all he received was silence, Sam cleared his throat and attempted to call out Dean's name again, but only succeeded at letting out a groan as his head gave a particularly nasty throb.

"Sam?" Dean's tired voice sounded from somewhere close by.

Sam rolled his head to the direction he had heard his brother's voice come from and tried to make out Dean's face; however, his vision blurred with burning tears from the increasing pain in his head and tired body. So much pain. He felt like he was being dragged down under the pressure and pain that kept building up on top of him. He noticed the frayed ends of his eyesight and numbly realized he was being pulled into another vision. Sam struggled against the pressure, not wanting to succumb himself to the painful future of somebody else's life.

"Hey man, calm down...relax. Just relax, Sammy," Sam heard Dean's comforting voice say. He felt Dean's strong and calloused hand brush away his sweaty mop of brown hair before resting on his forehead, the coolness of Dean's skin mellowing the fire burning inside of him. Sam felt Dean's other hand grab onto his own hand, providing him with an anchor to latch on to. He squeezed back against Dean's hand, his nails digging into soft skin, as he fought to stay with Dean. His exhausting efforts paid off and Sam found himself released of the vision and looking up into the dark green of Dean's concerned eyes.

"Dean," Sam gasped, his chest heaving as if he had just won a marathon. His body felt drained and exhausted, each limb as heavy as lead. His head ached with a persistent acute pain that seemed would never go away.

"Hey there, Sammy. Thanks for the scare," Dean responded sarcastically, but the joke was weak and unable to cover up the fear and concern in his voice.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, feeling suddenly foolish.

"Don't be sorry," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Sorry," Sam repeated automatically, his voice still weak with exhaustion and pain.

"Stop it," Dean snapped and sat on the edge of Sam's bed, causing Sam's body to dip towards him. He noticed that Sam was still clinging to his hand as if it was the only thing that was keeping him rooted in this world, preventing him from slipping back into the darkness of unconsciousness. Dean saw little drops of red bubbling out from beneath Sam's pale nails, but didn't really mind. He would bear Sam's scars any day only so that Sam didn't have to.

"What happened?" Sam asked, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had settled between the two of them.

Dean bit his lower lip and fidgeted, casting around for the right words to say. Finally he slowly responded, "Honestly, I was hoping you could tell me." When Sam quirked an eyebrow, Dean took a breath and continued, "All I know is that you just barged into the bathroom after I got out of the shower and started throwing up. Your nose was bleeding pretty bad and then you just...passed out."

Sam sat up on his elbows and stared at his brother, trying to comprehend what he was saying. He couldn't remember anything that Dean was saying. He dug into his memory, but his mind was too tired to come up with any answers. Sam sighed and ran a hand through his tangle of brown hair, causing it to stick up on end, before saying, "How long have I been out?"

"Three days," Dean replied, shifting his eyesight to the floor and preparing for the string of angry questions he knew would come from Sam.

"Three days! What the hell, Dean? Why didn't you wake me up?" Sam bellowed.

"You don't think I didn't try that, Sammy? You were having too much fun impersonating Sleeping Beauty," Dean snapped back in response, lifting his gaze back to Sam's blazing eyes.

"Cute," Sam replied dryly, then added, "And it's Sam, not Sammy."

"Must you?" Dean groaned, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Yes," Sam said stubbornly. A wave of anger swelled up inside of him and before he could stop himself he continued in a deathly hiss, "Since you never seem to get it right. Since you never seem to understand that I _can_ look after myself. Since you never seem to understand that I _don't_ need you all of the time."

After Sam finished, he saw Dean flinch and grit his teeth in pain. He wondered momentarily if his words had cut into Dean's heart, the bitterness and hatred shining through his voice slicing in deeply. Sam then felt a tugging at his hand and looked down to see Dean's hand clasped tightly in his own, blood trickling down from where his nails had been gouging Dean's skin. He let go immediately and felt sick as he examined Dean's blood glowing brightly against the pale skin of his fingertips.

"Is that really what you think, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice low and thick with betrayal. He refused to look Sam in the eye and instead inspected the deep cuts dug into his skin, bleeding with abandonment and contaminated with his brother's fury.

"Dean, I-" Sam began to say but stopped when Dean lifted his head and finally looked at him. Sam cringed with fear at the blazing fire in Dean's eyes. At the powerful waves of acerbity emitted from Dean. Sam had never seen Dean look at him with so much hatred in his whole life. He was expecting the painful blow of Dean's knuckles against his jaw. Hell, he _deserved _it. And yet, it never came.

"I'm going to get something to eat," Dean hissed, standing up abruptly and striding over to the small wooden desk to collect his car keys and leather jacket. He shrugged into the worn leather of his jacket and popped the collar before grabbing the keys and walking briskly to the door of the hotel room.

"Dean-" Sam started to call out to his brother's retreating figure, but was cut off sharply by the slamming of the door. He heard the engine of the Impala roar to life, the squeal of rubber on asphalt, and the fading rumble of the Impala as Dean sped away from the hotel. Sped away from Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: How many times do I have to say this? I still don't own Supernatural. Or Advil for that matter.

Betaed: Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew), you are simply the best person in the entire world. Your continued support has helped this story grow.

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains some language.

modrocker423: First off, I'd like to say how deeply sorry I am that this chapter took me so long to write. I had a bit of a writer's block over my holiday break and then the week after break was so chaotic for me I never had the chance to sit down and write. Hopefully this chapter makes up for such the large wait. Second off, I'd like to thank my reviewers for sticking with me and supporting me, even when I went away for awhile. You don't know how much your comments helped me during my writer's block. Without you, there would seriously be no story.

Enjoy!

* * *

::Chapter Five::

Dean slammed his foot on the accelerator and revved up the engine, the loud and guttural roar of the Impala a comforting sound to his stressed nerves. He had just spent an hour in a cramped and smelly diner waiting for an annoying, gum-smacking waitress to place his simple order of two cheeseburger baskets. Dean had been driven close to insanity by the continuous smacking and popping of the gum and was on the verge of pulling his .45 pistol to blow the piece of gum into smithereens. Luckily, the large man at the grill with hair as greasy as the food he was cooking called up his order at the same time Dean had reached into the back waistband of his jeans.

Dean forced the memory from his mind and instead glanced at the speedometer. He reluctantly eased his foot off the accelerator as he realized that he was pushing one hundred on a fifty mile per hour stretch of road.

As the Impala slowed down, Dean heaved a large sigh and scrubbed a hand over the tight lines etched deep in his face from frustration and vexation. He looked over at the empty passenger seat and his chest tightened when all he saw were the two greasy bags of fast food. He had expected to see his sulking geek brother. _Wanted_ to see his sulking geek brother.

Dean felt his fingers tighten their grip on the steering wheel as his mind wandered back to the fight with Sam. As much as Dean loved his younger brother, he still couldn't believe what Sam had said to him. His words had come so freely...like they had when Ellicot had tapped into Sam's suppressed rage. Except this time there was no Ellicot or some other rage-inducing spirits; it was just Sam. And that was killing Dean the most.

Sam and Dean rarely fought with one another. Of course there was the occasional bickering and assault of swear words, but that was just what came with brotherhood. For the most part, Sam seemed to save all his pent up anger for whenever their father came into the picture. However, when the two did fight, Dean usually deserved it.

But this...was random. There was no smart ass remarks from Dean, no childish pranks, no anything that Dean usually did on a regular basis. This time, all Dean had done was take care of Sam's sick ass, and how did the kid repay him? By shoving all of his stored emo rage in Dean's face.

Sure, Dean could blame Sam's PMS moment on lack of sleep and irritability. Yet there had been so much bitterness in his younger brother's voice. So much contempt that usually never appeared in Sam's voice. So much exposed truth.

_Since you never seem to get it right_.

Dean knew that Sam hated to be called Sammy. He always tried to treat Sam like the adult Dean knew he was, he really did. But his younger brother had grown up as Sammy in Dean's mind. The fact that Sam was no longer Sammy bit at Dean's heart; it was something he never really wanted to admit to himself. By admitting that Sam was grown up, Dean would also have to admit that Sam never needed his help or protection. And that was just something that, as the older brother, he could never even attempt to admit to.

_Since you never seem to understand that I can look after myself_.

Dean understood that, as an adult, Sam could take care of himself. He knew he should treat his younger brother as an equal, on hunts and in real life. But that was just it. Sam would always remain Dean's _younger_ brother. From the night he had carried Sam out of their burning house in Kansas, Dean felt responsible for his younger brother. After that horrific incident, it was hard for Dean to shake that feeling off.

_Since you never seem to understand that I don't need you all of the time_.

Sam may not need Dean all of the time, but Dean needed him. He needed his brother to fill the gaping hole that forever wounded his heart. After losing their mother and having their father drop all contact and disappear, Dean had no one to turn to but Sam. When Sam had left for college, Dean was happy that his brother had a chance at the normal life that Dean desperately wanted him to have. Yet Dean was never the same after Sam left. He holed up inside of himself, talked only when necessary, barely ate, and lost all enthusiasm around girls. He had felt lost and empty...as if a part of him was missing. And there was: Sam.

Dean felt his eyes burn and his vision blur as those words and memories came to his mind. He growled and roughly swiped at his eyes, angry at how weak and emotional he was becoming. He needed to get out of the Impala and breath fresh air that wasn't contaminated with the haunting memories of his past. Dean looked around to get his bearings and realized that he was only a couple of miles away from the hotel. He sped up once more and after a couple of minutes managed to swerve into the motel parking lot.

Dean threw the gear into park and opened the car door, the door hinges protesting with a loud squeak. He leaned over and grabbed the two bags of food before closing the door with another squeak and locking up the Impala. He walked over to the fifth motel room, ignoring the cold night air as it bit at his exposed face and hands. Dean pulled out his key and opened the motel room door before closing it and turning to see Sam sitting up on his bed with his back to him...the same position that Dean had left him in.

Slightly perturbed that Sam didn't react to his entrance, Dean cautiously walked over to the wooden desk and made quite a loud exhibit of putting down the bags of food and his keys and shrugging out of his jacket. When Sam didn't react, Dean picked up one of the greasy bags of food and chucked it at Sam's head. The bag hit the side of Sam's head with a muffled thud before dropping to the floor, spilling an array of fries in the process.

When Sam still didn't acknowledge his presence, Dean started to walk over to him while saying, "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be pissed. But you seem to be...dude, what's wrong with you?" Dean had stopped in his tracks when he noticed his younger brother hunched over an open newspaper, pale fingers clamping the bridge of his nose in an apparent attempt to rid the pain that was showing clearly on his face.

Concerned, Dean walked over to Sam and softly shook his shoulder. He felt Sam jump at his touch and said, "It's okay, Sam. It's just me." He saw Sam look up at him through pain glazed eyes before Dean dropped down on his own bed across from his brother. He reached over and pulled the newspaper off of his brother's lap and onto his own lap. He glanced at Sam, who now had his eyes closed and was rubbing his temples, before turning back to the paper and scanning the first few paragraphs.

_Howard Joseph Stern, 42, was found dead in his apartment last night from apparent suicide. After Stern failed to show up for work for three days and complaints from neighbors about a noisome smell were reported, Applecreek County police were called in to investigate. The body was discovered in Stern's bathroom, where police believe it had been there for a couple of days. _

_Stern's body was sent to a local coroner, whose name wished to be withheld. The coroner concluded that Stern died of massive blood loss due to self-inflicted wounds made from a shaving razor._

_Stern's death is the second suicide this month to shake the small town of Applecreek, Ohio. In addition to the two deaths, six more suicides have occurred over the last three months. The unexplained jump in the suicide rate in Applecreek have left police baffled and townspeople demanding for answers._

_A memorial for Stern will take place this Wednesday at..._

Dean shifted his eyes from the paper to Sam, who was still rubbing at his temples. He had a feeling he knew what was the cause of Sam's "incident" a couple nights ago. "You had a vision about this guy's death, didn't you?" Dean asked in a soft voice, already knowing the answer.

"Dean, I...I saw everything. I saw the razor, I saw him cut himself, I saw the blood. Oh god, the blood," Sam whispered shakily, clutching his stomach as bile licked the back of his throat.

"Hey, stay here with me, Sam," Dean said, trying to get his brother's mind off of the unpleasant vision he was remembering. When Sam's dark brown eyes met his, Dean continued, "So why did you see this guy kill himself? We don't even know the dude."

"It was weird, Dean. There was this-this spirit of a woman who just appeared. She...she kissed him," Sam muttered, closing his eyes as he strained to recover every detail of the vision.

"How romantic, Sam. Now how does this relate to the guy's suicide?"

"He killed himself after she kissed him."

"So you think that this woman's spirit convinced this guy to kill himself in some way?" Dean questioned. He saw Sam nod before clutching his head again. Dean watched Sam for a couple of seconds before shoving the paper aside and standing to his feet. He walked over to his duffle bag and found the first aid kit the two always carried before taking out two Advil. He grabbed the bottle of water he had bought for Sam off of the desk and brought them to his brother, who accepted them with a muttered thanks.

"Once you're done taking those, eat something. I don't want you throwing up again. Then you can go take a shower and get ready," Dean said, taking control of the situation like he always did.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked after downing the pills.

"We're gonna go pay Howard a visit."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Hmmm...do you think a 16 year old girl could possibly own Supernatural? Yeah, me neither... 

Betaed: Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew), you are the best guidance I need when writing this story. Your help and opinions have helped keep me writing.

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains some language and a dead body (but there's nothing really gruesome...it's just a small reference).

modrocker423: Ok, so once again I'd like to say how deeply sorry I am this chapter took so long to make. Exams came up in school and took up a lot of time (I'm not kidding...I spent 8 hours studying for my AP Econ test...not fun) and then I had to go to a funeral during the small break after exams. However, the funeral took place in Kansas right by Lawrence, so my temporary writers block for this story went away since I just kept thinking of Supernatural. Also, with 20 hours in a car to spare, what else can you do but write. Before I just keep babbling away, I'd like to thank my readers and reviewers for your support. Without you, there would be no story.

Enjoy!

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::Chapter Six::

After downing the Advil, eating his own cheeseburger basket and half of Dean's, and taking up all of the hot water in a nice long shower, Sam felt refreshed and revitalized. He actually enjoyed the loud blare of AC/DC for once as he sat shotgun in the Impala, his arm lazily hanging out of the open passenger seat window.

"Man, I'm starving," Dean complained over the loud verses of "Back in Black."

Sam leaned over and turned the stereo volume down, ignoring the complaintive "Hey!" from Dean, before responding, "You shouldn't of given me half of your cheeseburger."

"Correction: you _took_ half of my cheeseburger," Dean retorted, then added, "And all the hot water for that matter."

"What? Was the water a bit too cold for you, Dean?" Sam mocked, looking over at his sulking brother and smirking.

"It was fucking freezing, dude," Dean snapped, glaring over at Sam.

"Oh come on. It wasn't _that _cold."

"If you call negative twenty degrees below zero not cold, then yeah."

"Well what can I say? I'm a very needy person," Sam said, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

"Damn right you are," Dean countered, looking over at Sam and his sad attempt to keep a straight face. He turned his attention back to the road and grumbled, "I don't know why I put up with you" under his breath, but still loud enough for Sam to hear.

Sam lost at his attempt to keep a straight face and ended up chuckling despite himself. He managed to succumb his laughter to a goofy grin after a couple of seconds. Sam looked over at his brother when he heard Dean say, "Yeah, laugh it up chuckles, 'cause you're next" but couldn't help but notice the smile tugging at the corner of Dean's mouth.

* * *

It wasn't the fact that he was staring at the cold and lifeless body of Howard Stern that bothered Sam. It was the fact that he was staring at the body of a person he had a chance to save. Howard Stern's body signified his failure...his weakness when it came to his visions. If he hadn't passed out and slept for three days, Howard Stern would not be dead.

What was the use of having painful visions if Sam could not use them to his advantage? Becoming a psychic was an ironic gift thrust upon him as he battled the supernatural with Dean. What good was the gift if he could not control it? Although a helpful tool to their job of hunting the paranormal, Sam's visions seemed more or less like an encumbrance than anything else. He could deal with the pain that accompanied the visions since the job of hunting evil seemed to walk hand-in-hand with it. He just couldn't deal with the burden he knew he was forcing Dean to carry.

Although Dean would never admit it, Sam knew his visions freaked his brother out a bit. He couldn't even try to understand how useless and powerless Dean must feel when he has a vision. Dean always needed to be in control, so how could he be in control when it dealt with something uncontrollable?

Sam blinked out of his reverie when he felt an elbow dig roughly into his side. He came back to reality slightly to hear the coroner's monotonous voice babble on in doctor language about the causes of Howard Stern's death; however, his voice sounded muffled and far away, as if Sam was listening to him talk on the other side of a door. He felt another jab to his rib cage and looked over to see Dean staring at him concernedly, eyebrow raised in silent inquisition. Sam shook his head, partly to inform Dean that he was fine and partly to clear his trouble thoughts, and turned his attention back to the coroner.

"The extensive loss of blood came from the self-inflicted lacerations to the ulnar artery and the radial artery, as you can see here," the coroner stated as he lifted up Howard Stern's left arm and pointed to the jagged slashes cut deep into the underside of the wrist. The wounds shined blood red against the deathly pale of Howard Stern's skin.

"So you believe our uncle killed himself?" Sam asked, trying to settle the queasy feeling in his stomach he always seemed to get when examining a corpse. If he and Dean were going to pull off their role as Howard Stern's nephews, they needed to act defensive of his supposed suicide.

"Police found no signs of struggle at the scene, and your uncle's fingerprints were all over his razor. His body shows no other signs of injury except to his wrists," the coroner said in a business-like manner. He then softened his voice and added, "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. It must be hard, especially with the passing of your aunt not so long ago."

Dean and Sam exchanged a brief glance before Dean spoke up. "It's been rough, but we've managed to make it through. Would it be all right if we spent a couple of minutes alone with our uncle...you know, to pay our last respects?"

The coroner looked solemnly between Sam and Dean before nodding and quietly leaving the examination room, shutting the steel door behind him to provide more privacy.

"So what do you think?" Dean asked Sam after the coroner left the room. He pulled out his hand-crafted EMF detector and flipped it on before running it across the cuts on Howard Stern's wrists. He wasn't surprised when nothing happened.

Sam took a quick look around the room to check for any hidden surveillance cameras before replying, "This guy wasn't suicidal. Some spirit egged him on."

"By kissing him, right?" Dean questioned, storing away his EMF detector.

"Yeah, from what I could tell," Sam said, running a hand through his shaggy hair.

"I dunno, Sam. It all seems kinda...sketchy," Dean responded, examining Howard Stern's body once more. He wanted to believe Sam, but something just didn't seem to click.

"Sketchy?" Sam snapped, anger starting to pulse through his body.

"Yeah. I mean, when we deal with cases like these, the spirit usually does the killing. Except now this spirit just kisses this guy and he commits suicide. Maybe you were just dreaming..." Dean trailed off.

"I'm positive it was a vision," Sam said. When Dean continued to look skeptical, he added, "We know that Howard Stern's wife died. Maybe her spirit came back for revenge or something like that."

"Yeah, maybe," Dean responded. He just couldn't seem to shake off the feeling that this wasn't one of their normal cases.

"We've looked into less, man," Sam replied, noticing how unsure his brother looked.

"I know," Dean answered. Sam was right; they had looked into less. All he could do now was trust that his younger brother was correct.

"First thing's first, we need to do some research...find out what really happened to Howard Stern's wife. So let's go," Sam stated before starting to head towards the door.

"Eager to start researching, or eager to leave, Sam?" Dean asked, following in step with his brother while a smirk forced its way to his lips. When his brother didn't respond, he continued, "Is the icky corpse giving little Sammy the creeps?"

"Shut up," Sam snapped, his body going rigid as he turned to face his grinning brother.

"Ooh, defensive," Dean countered, his smile growing as he saw how angry Sam was becoming.

"Jerk," Sam snarled and stalked out the door.

Dean laughed as he followed the tall and lanky form of his brother out of the examination room and managed to supply his usual comeback of "Bitch" as he closed the steel door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I think these disclaimers are designed to make me depressed when I come to the cold realization that I don't own Supernatural. Oh yeah, I also don't own Advil or any of the guns listed below...in case you were seriously thinking of suing a poor 16 year old.

Betaed: Gina (We.Do.It.In.The.Dark.StageCrew), you rock. Thanks for taking on my "will you read this for me?" nagging with a heart. Your voice and continued support make this all worthwhile.

Summary: A vengeful spirit who kills by kissing it's victims finds a home in Applecreek, Ohio. What happens when it sets it's eyes on Sam?

Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. This chapter contains language.

modrocker423: Oh noes! I'm late...again! Ack, I'm truly sorry guys. I don't know what's gotten into me lately. I wrote this chapter in two parts, and for the life of me I could not get them to join together. But, I managed. It might have taken me like a week to figure out, but...hopefully it's worth it. Thanks to all the readers who have stayed with the story and have sent me reviews even though I'm persistantly late posting new chapters. Your support is A M A Z I N G!

Enjoy!

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::Chapter Seven::

"I give up!" Dean exclaimed irritably, pushing the large and dusty book entitled _Grief: Coping With the Seemingly Uncopable_ away and leaning back in the wooden chair he was sitting in. He scrubbed a hand across his tired face before reaching for his cup of coffee and depressingly realized that it was empty.

"Quitting already? I didn't think you were the type to quit so easily, Dean," Sam mocked from his seat on his bed. He momentarily looked up from the blaring screen of the laptop to stare at his brother, who was leaning back in the wooden chair and tipping it precariously on it's back legs.

"Sorry that 700 pages of how to cope with grief isn't exactly riveting material for me," Dean grumbled. He righted the chair to it's normal four legs before getting up and stretching out his tight muscles.

"Apparently you've never been through college," Sam snarked, turning his attention back to the web page he was browsing.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Dean retorted. He grabbed the duffle bag of weapons from the corner of the room and plopped down on his bed, laying the bag down in front of him. He opened the duffle and admired the mass of guns that needed to be cleaned. Without a moment's hesitation, he set to work.

Cleaning firearms was the second best way to relieve stress for Dean (the number one stress reliever being quite obvious). In a time where his life was far from simple, Dean relished in the fact that he could simply sit down and clean guns for half an hour. He looked forward to scrubbing off the dirt, gunshot powder, and blood that accumulated with ease on the barrels of the gun. Each firearm had a memory of some fight; when cleaned, those memories came back to Dean and granted him satisfaction for all the son of a bitches he and Sam had killed.

"So you finding anything interesting over there, college boy?" Dean asked, setting aside the now clean Beretta and picking up his M1911 Pistol. He disassembled it before swabbing the barrel with a cleaning cloth.

"I think so," Sam replied slowly, his brows furrowed in concentration. His eyes danced across the laptop screen as he continued to read an article.

"And when were you planning on sharing? _After _I read the 700 page novel?" Dean exclaimed indignantly, reassembling the M1911 Pistol and setting it aside.

"Maybe," Sam riposted, his mouth twitching slightly.

"Bitch. So what are you finding?" Dean questioned, setting to work on the sawed-off shotgun.

"Well, about six months ago Howard's wife, Marie, committed suicide. A first for Applecreek in over a decade," Sam stated, scanning further down the article.

"Does it say why?" Dean pressed, looking up momentarily from his cleaning to watch Sam and his search for answers.

"Yeah...she had her third miscarriage a week before the incident," Sam responded softly.

"No wonder she committed suicide. I mean, that's got to be rough," Dean muttered.

"Tell me about it. It says here that Marie took a shower before stealing her husband's razor and slitting her own wrists. Howard found her body when he returned home from work later that night," Sam said.

Cold realization started to settle in...

"Huh. So I guess we are dealing with a malevolent spirit," Dean stated, returning his attention back to the sawed-off shotgun.

"I don't get it though. Why would Marie want to seek revenge on her husband? I mean, it's not like he had anything to do with the miscarriages," Sam asked, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Maybe she felt that Howard _did_ have something to do with the miscarriages...that it was his faulty genes or something," Dean suggested, finishing the sawed-off and moving to the Desert Eagle.

"Yeah, maybe," Sam replied, closing the laptop and looking over at the alarm clock on the bedside table, surprised that it only showed ten o'clock at night. It felt like he had been working far longer than just a couple of hours.

A low pulse of pain started to build up in Sam's head, making his skull feel as if it were on fire. His eyes ached from staring at the laptop screen for a long period of time.

Or so Sam thought.

A particularly nasty throb of pain brought his vision to a blur, the colors of the world morphing together. Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to ward off the oncoming vision, but it was to no avail. Snippets of the vision attacked him in a brutal assault that lasted less than a minute. First he saw a quick flash of a rifle, then another flash of a whisky bottle, and then darkness soon followed by the loud sound of a rifle being fired.

Sam froze, his muscles tensing with fear. Dean had been cleaning guns...what if he was careless and forgot to unload the ammo? But it was Dean, and he was _never_ careless like that. What if the safety accidently switched off?

Fuck.

Sam didn't want to look...didn't want to ever open his eyes again. He was terrified of opening his eyes and finding the last remains that once made up his brother. He would not open his eyes, he just wouldn't.

"You ok?" Sam heard Dean ask, his voice sounding distant and muffled.

Relief swept through Sam faster than the speed of light. He opened his eyes and, ignoring the burn of the sudden light on his sensitive eyes, saw Dean staring at him concernedly as he methodically cleaned the Desert Eagle. Sam had to find his voice and clear his throat before saying, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Well, no time for beauty rest now, princess. We've got a grave to dig and a corpse to salt and burn."

* * *

Sam felt like shit. His head was under the assault of flashes of white hot pain, searing his brain with a vengeance. To make it all worse, he was already at the maximum amount of pain killers his body could healthily sustain. 

_Fucking Advil and their stupid overdose warnings..._

Sam knew he should probably tell Dean about the flashes of the vision and the continuous headache, especially since more of the vision would surely follow. And just the general overall inability to shake this feeling that they weren't doing the right thing by digging up the grave.

The most sensible thing would be to tell Dean everything that was on his mind at the moment. And yet, he couldn't form the words to do so. It wasn't that he physically couldn't tell Dean everything; he just couldn't do it mentally.

Sam was raised in a world where sensibility often tied in with weakness, something their father never could really put up with. The only two sensible things to discuss were: what needs to be hunted and how to kill it. There was no time for emotional crap. It was all business, all the time.

Sam watched his brother from the corner of his eyes as he drove the Impala and mouthed the words to Blue Oyster Cult at the same time. Dean always seemed to be able to mask his uncertainty and fear with ease...to be able to hide it behind the layers of walls he had chosen to build.

Although it bugged the shit out of Sam to have to tear down those walls from time to time, maybe Dean had a good reason for building them in the first place.

Maybe it was time for Sam to start building his own walls...


End file.
